


Siren Song

by femmefatality05



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Chicago (City), F/F, Femme Fatale, Inspired by Music, LGBTQ Female Character, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Music, Rape Recovery, Singing, Sirens, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 10:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17641499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmefatality05/pseuds/femmefatality05
Summary: Cordelia Goode has heard talk of an extraordinary female singer in Chicago.  So good it just might be magic.  She travels to the Windy City to investigate the matter for herself - and finds a lot more than she bargained for.This work will most likely become explicit in the future, but the first several chapters will not be.





	Siren Song

                The woman strode with purpose down the busy Chicago street.  Icy wind bit at her neck and she bundled her scarf closer to her skin.  She never could understand how people in this city lived with the obscene cold.  A few blocks later, she approached her destination: a dingy little hole in the wall club that most people weren’t looking twice at.  The sign outside with half burnt out neon letters would have spelled “The Crescent Moon” if they were properly lit.  She pushed its beat-up door open, cold air rushing into the space as the lone woman stepped through the threshold.   

                The club that night was a warm and inviting refuge from the frigid cold outside.   Tealight candles were illuminating the many faces throughout the bar with a soft glow.  Easy chatter and laughter rose from the tables as the happy patrons drank themselves warm.  There was no better place to be on this frozen January night.  She smoothed her tousled blonde hair and began to remove her gloves as she scanned the room.  No one in particular stood out to her.  She decided to approach the bar and order her usual. 

                “Seven and seven?” she said, raising the volume of her voice to be heard over the din of so many people in a small space.  The bartender nodded with acknowledgement and moved to prepare her drink.  While she waited, she looked around for an open chair.  It was packed. 

                “Guess this is the popular place to be tonight in Chicago,” the woman commented.

                “Well uh, not exactly,” the bartender said with a laugh.  “This place is kind of a shithole.  But it’s our shithole and we’re fond of it.”  The woman smiled at this.    

                “But, uh, yeah, we’re usually pretty busy when it’s this cold out since we never close.  But it’s the singer tonight that everyone is here to see,” the bartender said as he slid a full glass toward her. 

                “Singer?”  This had clearly piqued the woman’s interest.  “What kind of singer?”  The bartender smiled and shook his head.

                “Look, honestly?  She’s kind of… beyond description.  Between you and me, I’ve never heard anything like her.  Stick around and see for yourself.”  He pointed out a chair that the woman hadn’t seen herself.  She smiled and thanked him before sitting down with her drink. 

                Taking a sip, she was pleased that this place didn’t seem to bother with rail whiskey.  Or perhaps the bartender had taken a liking to her.  She took her beige winter coat off and draped it over her chair.  As she straightened her black, off the shoulder cashmere sweater, the lights began to dim, indicating the performance was about to begin.  She had made it just in time.  Her deep brown eyes flicked immediately to the stage. 

                The bartender had left his post and come up onto the stage.  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to bring out the lovely lady you all came here for tonight!”  A sizable cheer arose from the crowd.  The woman could sense the anticipation emanating from the people around her.  “Look, I know you don’t want to listen to me babble on up here, so I won’t keep you waiting any longer.  Please, put your hands together, for Calliope Banks!”  The people were happy to oblige.  The woman, however, did not applaud.  She merely took a large sip from her drink and settled into her chair.  This is what she had come here for. 

                A few moments passed as the stage briefly remained empty, just a microphone in its stand beneath a spotlight.  A man quietly stepped onstage and took a seat behind the piano.  And then she emerged.  Her fiery red hair naturally emerged from her head in wild curls, but those curls had been piled elegantly on top of her head.  Large blue eyes, wide and sparkling looked out at the crowd beneath fluttery black eyelashes, her eyelids carefully painted with a dark shimmer.  Delicate diamonds dangled from her ears, hovering near her collarbones.  Her skin, so pale it glowed, looked as if it had been poured into her dress.  Its neckline plunged beneath her breasts, the fabric of it a dark maroon, softly shimmering.  Calliope Banks was a vision.  The woman in the audience could not deny this.  Calliope smiled, bringing the club to a hushed silence.  She gave the slightest nod to the pianist, indicating she was ready.  Her hands reached up to the microphone, holding it with love as a dreamy melody began to play.  And Calliope began to sing.

                The effect was immediate. Calliope’s voice, so clear, so delicate, so sure, permeated the crowd.  The woman couldn’t help but part her lips in awe.  She had never heard anything like this.  As the singer enchanted everyone with lyrics of love, of loss, of heartbreak, it was as if everyone in the audience felt they were in the song with her.  Remembering lost loves their hearts were still holding onto.  The way she moved her hips, the slight movement of her hands, the sorrow in her eyes – all of it imbued her song with such emotion that the woman in the audience felt a tear suddenly drip down her own face.  A familiar vision of blonde wavy hair and that radiant smile she loved so well came to life in her mind’s eye as yet another tear fell onto the table.  As the song reached its climax, Calliope’s voice grew strong.  A fire had ignited it, filling it with smoke and lust and anger.  The lyrics didn’t even matter, her voice told the story so clearly.  Finally, as she held one last lingering note, the song finished.  Another silence hovered over the room before everyone in the room leapt to their feet, roaring with applause.  Calliope quietly smiled, acknowledged the audience, and continued on with her performance. 

                Several songs later, Calliope had left the stage, and the candlelight seemed to lose some of its beauty.  People lamented the show being over before many crowded around the bar, ready for another drink.  “I can’t believe she isn’t famous,” a man stated to his girlfriend as they stood up, gathering their things to leave.  The woman remained in her chair.  She pushed her reignited memories to the back of her mind.  She had a job to do.  Her hand had picked up the empty glass, swirling the ice cubes inside as she contemplated what to do next.  The stories from the frozen Midwest that had reached her all the way in New Orleans were true.  Now she just needed to decide how to proceed.  A minute passed this way.  She then stood up, put her coat on, and confidently walked toward the stage.  As she opened the door to what could only be a private backstage area, no one stopped or questioned her.  Curiously, no one seemed to notice her at all.

                The woman found herself in a small, dimly lit hallway.  Torn and fading posters from previous performances littered the walls.  Her boots stuck to the floor slightly as she walked.  To her left was a nasty old bathroom that hadn’t been cleaned properly for years.  Directly in front of her was a dimly gleaming exit sign.  She then noticed another door on the right that was cracked open slightly.  Opening the door further, she found what she was looking for.  The contrast between this version of Calliope and the glittering creature that had appeared onstage was striking.  Still beautiful, certainly, but the beauty was quieter now.  Calliope was sitting in front of a lighted mirror, wearing tight black leggings and comfortable fuzzy boots.  The lovely dress was on the floor in a glittery, shapeless pile.  Her hands were at the back of her head, methodically removing bobby pins when she looked up into the mirror and realized she wasn’t alone.  She regarded this strange woman for a few moments, her eyes narrowing slightly in distrust.

                “I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” Calliope said, her hands gripping the chair as she turned around toward the door.  Strands of curly hair now joined the diamond earrings at her neck.  The woman in the doorway smiled.

                “I do apologize for intruding,” she said.  Calliope smiled incredulously. 

                “Well, thanks, but that doesn’t answer my question.  You shouldn’t be here.”

                “May I please come inside? I mean you no harm,” The woman gestured at another chair in the tiny dressing room.  Calliope hesitated for a moment before conceding. 

                “I guess.  So what, are you a fan, or something?”  Calliope turned back toward the mirror and again began letting her hair down. 

                “Not exactly,” the woman said, settling into the well-worn armchair.  “My name is Cordelia Goode.  I am the headmistress of Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies.  And I think you could have what it takes to become one of my students.”  Calliope paused for a moment before she burst into laughter.

                “Exceptional young ladies?  Yeah, I think you’ve got the wrong girl.”  Calliope rolled her eyes and laughed slightly before a look of realization spread across her face.  “Wait – you’re that witch lady from New Orleans!  I saw you on the news not too long ago!  Are you actually for real?” 

                “Yes, I am for real,” Cordelia smiled.  “Stories of you and your remarkable voice have been coming to me more and more frequently from my contacts here in Chicago.  I wanted to see, or rather hear, for myself.  And I must say, I believe they were right.  I don’t think we’ve ever seen anything like you.”  Calliope’s eyebrows knitted together as she thought.

                “So… you think I’m… what, a witch?” Calliope said, doubt coloring her melodic voice.

                “That’s precisely what I think you are,” Cordelia said, leaning in, serious now.  Calliope burst into laughter.

                “That’s some Harry Potter shit right there!  Are you kidding me?” she giggled.  “Yer a wizard, Harry!” she quoted to herself as she continued to laugh.  “No fucking way!”  Cordelia allowed her this moment before continuing on.

                “I understand how ridiculous this sounds.  But I assure you, I am not lying to you.  Your voice… surely you aren’t deaf to its influence?” Cordelia questioned.  “Do you see the effect it has on people?”

                Calliope scoffed.  “Oh please.  I’m just a decent singer in a shitty bar.  Anytime someone sings in key, these people go apeshit.  There’s nothing special about me.” 

                “Now, that’s not true and you know it,” Cordelia asserted.  “I myself just witnessed and felt how powerful it is.  How it draws people in, captures them… Have you ever suggested that, say, someone do something for you and they did it without question?  Without any logical motivation for helping you?”  Calliope froze.  Her eyes grew slightly wider. 

                “Has your song ever been so effective that it seduced someone?  Perhaps even people that you didn’t want to?”  Cordelia noted that Calliope’s breath had grown more shallow and rapid.  This had clearly brought up several vivid memories for the young woman.  Several moments passed as Calliope processed this information. 

                “How do you know all this?”  Calliope breathed, clearly scared.  “The absolutely fucked up things that have happened to me…  There’s a reason for it?  There’s a reason why…”  Calliope’s eyes were now filled with fear.

                “Yes, I believe there is,” Cordelia answered her.  “I believe that your powers have manifested themselves through the power of your voice.  That it comes out in your songs.  You’re a real life siren,” she said, smiling.  But Calliope wasn’t smiling back. 

                “Can you make it stop?”  Her voice was quiet now.  Almost desperate.  There was sorrow clearly hovering close to the surface of her mind.  Cordelia moved to her, kneeling at her chair and taking Calliope’s hand in her own. 

                “No.  I can’t make it stop.”  Calliope exhaled and closed her eyes in bitter disappointment.  “But I can teach you how to control it.”  Cordelia watched as Calliope’s eyes opened and met hers.  “Come with me.  I will personally see that you are cared for while I help you learn how to take charge of your voice.”  Calliope allowed herself a shaky smile. 

                “When’s the next flight to Louisiana?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO much for reading my first fic in literally a decade! I absolutely plan to finish writing this, but any encouragement certainly wouldn't hurt.


End file.
